


To Come To Be Without

by dairyme



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Movie(s), underdeveloped ideas masquerading as subtlety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:30:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairyme/pseuds/dairyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles receives an unexpected gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Come To Be Without

**Author's Note:**

> Total movie-verse, specifically First Class, specifically Charles and Raven's relationship therein. I expect this kind of plot has been done before, but I haven't read it if it has.
> 
> Also this may be the quickest thing I've ever written, which possibly shows.

The man shifted his grip to hold the package more sturdily under one arm, then rearranged his cap, pulling it down by the brim with his free hand, before pressing the bell. The mechanism looked new, out of place with the architecture. He could hear it jangle faintly somewhere in the cavernous space beyond the door.

The package was slipping again, slightly too large and angular to fit beneath his arm. He hauled it back into position. He glanced behind himself, casually, gave the gum in his mouth a final chew, and spat it neatly into the shrubbery by the wall. A second later the door creaked open and he turned to it with a smooth smile. "Hello there, miss."

She was maybe seventeen, short and slim, loose blonde hair tucked behind one ear. She gripped the edge of the door with wary fingers.

He took in her appearance with a brief, appreciative gaze. "Is there a Professor Xavier here?"

The girl nodded. "Uh, yeah. He's just..." She waved her arm vaguely into the hallway. She broke into a sudden, pretty grin, shaking her head at her own stumbling reply. "I can go get him."

"That'd be swell." He smiled at her, toothy and charming, and she dropped her gaze bashfully before retreating quickly down the hall and out of sight. 

She hadn't closed the door fully, and he raised his hand as if to push it wider, but stopped just short of the wood. Instead he whistled a few bars of an improvised tune, and squinted up at the tall rows of windows above. A young face peered out of one on the second floor, nose pressed to the glass. He stopped whistling and nodded a friendly greeting. The child stuck its tongue out and disappeared.

"Is that for me?"

The words jarred his attention back to the door. For a heavy moment, he seemed unable to speak. "You're Professor Charles Xavier?"

"I am."

He recovered his composure, easy humour in his words. "Then it's for you."

Charles looked at him carefully. Then he wheeled his chair back, giving himself room to turn. "Why don't you bring it through?" He headed down the hall without waiting for an answer. 

Inside the air was cool and still, the smell of dust and polish and wood, and in one particular corridor something suspiciously like sweet pancakes. He walked a few paces behind the wheelchair, and every now and again reached out, ran his hand surreptitiously along a banister, brushed his fingertips casually against a doorframe. They reached the back of the house without meeting another person, and entered the gardens using a side door, where a short ramp had been installed. As they stepped outside he looked across to the main door, much grander, a series of wide steps leading down to the path. 

The late morning sun was warm, the rolling expanse of lawn idyllic. "Nice place."

"Did he send you?"

The man laughed, short and breathy, and kept his gaze on the scenery. "When did you guess?"

"You're hardly hiding."

He glanced pointedly down at the uniform, the body, then at Charles. 

"You're hardly hiding from _me_."

From the far end of the path, near the house, the faint sound of conversation could be heard. Raven didn't recognise the voices. "I see you're letting them answer the door." She could feel the weight of Charles's attention without having to look at him. "Kind of risky. It could be anyone."

"The only people who know they're here," said Charles, careful and even, "would never harm them."

The voices were fading into the distance. Raven thought one of them had maybe been the girl with the blonde hair. "There are other risks," she said. She imagined his face falling as he evaluated her words, felt a rush of exhilaration at the thought, but didn't turn to see it in reality.

Ahead of them a garden table had been set up, a couple of books, a tea set with a single cup to one side of its surface, a chair on the opposite side. Raven sat in the chair, moving the cup to make room for the package on the table. "You weren't expecting me, then."

The expression on Charles's face was fleeting, but so full of pain it made Raven's breath catch. His voice, however, was measured. "Of course not." He pulled the teacup towards him, rearranging the spoon in the saucer distractedly. "This," he said, patting the wheels of the chair. "Surprised you. You hadn't heard?"

"I'd heard." Raven couldn't look at him, instead focusing on the satellite dish that loomed in the distance to Charles's right. "But I didn't...it's different seeing it."

Charles was quiet. After a moment he picked up the teapot and filled the cup. He spooned in some sugar, and stirred it long past the point of necessity. "Does he know you're here?"

Raven pushed the package towards him. "Open it."

It was a square box, wrapped neatly in brown packing paper and secured with tape. Charles slid his hand over the tape, but didn't attempt to tear it. He looked up at Raven.

"Are you looking in here?" She tapped a finger against her forehead. There was a half-smile on the unfamiliar face, but it was cold.

Charles shook his head. "I made a promise."

Raven gave a soft, derisive laugh. "We all made promises, Charles."

He pushed his fingers under the paper edge and ripped it open. The box was cardboard, the lid unattached. He lifted it off, placed it carefully on the grass beside his chair. He pulled the box towards him and looked inside.

"No," said Raven, watching his expression change. "He doesn't know I'm here."

"This is..." His eyes were wide with an excitement that he seemed unsure what to do with, a near-panic he was fiercely struggling to control. "This is his?" 

Raven could hear the tightness in his throat, constricting his words. She nodded once, a slight shrug, as if it was nothing. 

He put his fingers to his temple, closing his eyes.

"No," she said quietly, taking gentle hold of his wrist - more gentle than she had intended, forgetting herself, forgetting this body, just for a second - and pulling his hand away. "This is - he had another one made."

"Oh." Charles carefully extricated himself from her grip. "Yes. Of course." He quirked a small, jagged smile. "Of course."

"I thought you could - I don't know. Study it. Maybe Hank could..." She tailed off, uncertain, in that instant a little girl again. She buried the feeling quickly, but a sense of it lingered, a nauseating, familiar aftertaste she despised. 

He lifted the helmet from its box. He held it gingerly, with a mix of fascination and repulsion. "But - why?"

Raven leaned back in the chair. Her expression was calculated now, a mask within a mask. "Because I hate it." 

She could see him working that one out, trying to read her face without looking into her mind. _Then come home_ , he was going to say. _Please come home, Raven_. And she would look him right in the eye when she told him _no_. 

No. "I hate him wearing it," she clarified, before he could speak. "If you could figure out how to get past it..."

Charles ran his palm across the metal, crown to nape. Raven looked away, over the gardens again. The sun warmed the skin of her arms, and she wanted to take off the cap and tilt her face into the light.

"Thank you," said Charles.

"I should go."

He watched her stand, turn her back to him and begin to walk, and he said nothing; was weighed down with all the things he wouldn't say to her, refused to say to her, and that was his problem, Raven thought. That had always been his problem.

"Raven."

She turned, waiting.

"Can I..." His hands were on the wheels of the chair, gripping tight. "Please. Before you go - can I see you?"

Her grin was almost a sneer, and fit the face she had chosen perfectly. "Which one?"

"You." He was forcing himself to stay still, she realised, his hands acting as brakes to keep him from approaching her. "The real you."

Raven's smile faded. "I don't think so, Charles," and she was already turning away. "I don't think you'd like her."


End file.
